


Fallen Fairytales

by JJAster



Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Catherine is brave, Comfort, Fighting the Good Fight, Hope, I love her, Loss, Motherhood, Pride Parade, Redemption, history huh?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 13:01:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25849996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JJAster/pseuds/JJAster
Summary: Catherine on the day she loses everything and then, a decade later, on the day her son finally finds it
Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Arthur Fox/Catherine Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor
Comments: 12
Kudos: 77
Collections: Henry Stole My Pen





	Fallen Fairytales

**Author's Note:**

> I’m sorry for the first part but writing the second part made me so happy :) 
> 
> Princess Catherine is an underrated character who I’ll write fondly of for as long as I can.
> 
> Thank you for reading, enjoy!

There are some things you just can’t speak about. 

You can try. 

You can mix and match meaningless words to string together an emotional mess of a sentence that will never stand a damn chance of explaining the depth of what you felt by a long shot. 

But you always manage to try anyway. 

Catherine had knocked on Henry’s door, the day after it happened. 

The young Prince was lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling, wishing it would crash down and swallow him whole. 

The aging Princess stood meekly at his doorstep, not knowing if she held the strength to shield him anymore if it did. 

In a charged moment, the mother and son locked eyes from their ends of the room, both of them too tired to meet each other halfway. 

Henry stared at his mum with hopeless eyes, red and sleepy. He looked at her as if she was the only person who stood a chance at fixing everything that had gone wrong in the last twenty four hours. 

Catherine's mouth parted, she swore she meant for words to come out, but all that did was a muffled cry. She could see the last of her son’s world shatter as she lowered her gaze to the floor, hot tears hitting the marbled floor. 

She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know anything anymore. 

She wondered what Arthur would think of her, if he could see her standing there then. A shell of the woman he fell in love with. 

She didn’t know how to be of any comfort when all she felt was a heart shattering surge of loneliness. A loneliness she knew she’d feel for the rest of her days. 

She didn’t feel like a mother anymore. She didn’t really feel anything. 

So she backed away, walking through the empty palace corridors with an empty look in her eyes. 

It was a ghostly scene. 

I can’t. I can’t. I can’t!

She passed Phillips' room and heard him slamming his fingers across the grand piano keys, playing a painful symphony of disconnected chords. She wanted to barge in and shield his ears from the horrible sound, but her legs refused to oblige and surged forward.

Run. Run. 

Move on. Move on. 

A harsh breeze blew in from Bea’s chambers. Her daughter’s window pushed wide open and the young princess was nowhere in sight. 

Walk away. Walk away. 

Move on. Move on. 

As Catherine made her way through the hall, she caught a few concerned glances. She almost broke down, right there and then, but she felt her mother’s hard gaze, daring her to make a scene. 

Move on. Move on. 

She overheard talks of funeral arrangements and the search for a runaway Bea, but they were all reduced to whispers when she finally made it to her room and slammed the doors behind her 

Catherine stared at their bed, her tired limbs all but begging her to collapse and get some rest. But she couldn’t. 

Dressed in a sharp shirt, skirt and blazer; her hair neatly pinned in an elegant chignon with a simple tiara resting on her head; the Princess broke. 

Curled in a ball of tears and shudders, her heel clad feet dangled off the edge of the sofa.

She kept her eyes tightly shut, wishing away the world around her. The smell of salt tears and holy incense masking over the smell of his old leather jacket, draped over the couch. 

A few days later, seemingly the worst was over. 

Arthur Fox was buried outside the very church he was married in, taken away too young and taken away from too many. 

The nation mourned the loss of the actor and royal consort they had once defamed in tabloids and newspapers, at the time of his engagement. There was a outpour of well wishes and condolences, from the media to the grieving family, and they played reruns of old bond movies till even the biggest fans got sick of them. 

They did eventually revert back to old habits, of course. Attacking the princess for her addictions and shaming the prince for his affections. 

But you all know how that goes. 

As for Catherine, she moved out of her old room. Now sleeping in a single bed chamber with the occasional company of Henry’s dog or Beatrice’s cat. 

She saw her children often, smiled at them with as much warmth she could steal from the kind sun. 

They’d smile back and would stand still in cold silence before exchanging short words about trivial British affairs and taking their leave. Catherine still fell short of words and she would for many years to come. 

But then one day, she’d see history repeat. She’d read headlines of scandalous affairs and forbidden fairy tales. 

She’d see her son choose his love over the crown, ready to scream his choice out loud from rooftops and press podiums. 

She’d see that stormy look in her mother’s eyes when the Queen hears of their love, the same look she’d seen decades ago when she too had stood hand in hand with the love of her life in that very palace hall.

All was fair in love. 

And in that moment she found the strength she swore she’d lost years ago. She wouldn’t let the world crash down on her boy. 

Dressed in a sharp shirt, skirt and blazer; her hair neatly pinned in an elegant chignon with a simple tiara resting on her head; the Princess fought the Queen. 

All was fair in war. 

If Arthur’s love left behind any legacy, she wanted this to be it. She’d fight the good fight till her son could get married in the church she did. 

She’d fight to win back Phillip’s trust and fight for Bea’s peace. 

The legacy was their children, not a flimsy crown. 

She wondered what Arthur would think of her, if he could see her standing there then. One woman in a crowd of hundreds, painted in all the colours of the rainbow. 

As the rain began to fall, just like it did every late afternoon in England, each droplet turned into a prism of light that shone the heaven’s blessings on the parade. 

Catherine looked up and saw a castle in the clouds, fit for a prince. She knew and she smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> Comment :)
> 
> I’m actually proud of this short


End file.
